


One Moment Changes Everything

by lotrfan



Category: TOLKIEN J. R. R. - Works & Related Fandoms, The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Alqualondë, Flight of the Noldor, Halls of Mandos, Teitho, Teitho Contest, alernative point of view
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-03
Updated: 2018-03-03
Packaged: 2019-03-26 12:29:55
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,001
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13857810
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lotrfan/pseuds/lotrfan
Summary: written for the Teitho Contest Joker Challenge where it place 2nd. Prompt: Life and Death. Námo and Vairë become aware of events unfolding in Alqualondë.





	One Moment Changes Everything

**Author's Note:**

> I'm considering making this a multi chapter fic, taking place exclusively in the Halls of Mandos during the years of the Exile of the Noldor. A bridge between this time and my story "I Will Wait."  
> Tell me what you think and if you would be interested in that!

He was watching Vairë weave when the sensation came over him. He gripped the back of her chair and swayed for a moment as her eyes met his.

"You felt it?" she asked, the shuttle dropping from her fingers as she stood.

Námo nodded, pressing his fingertips to his forehead as the pressure grew there.

The door to their chamber flew open and he looked up to see the pale, distraught Maia who entered the room.

"My Lord," Alariel began, his voice faltering. "My Lord, you are needed."

"I felt it," Námo said, the vision of the bodies on the bloodstained sand of Alqualondë filling his mind.

"There are so many—Noldor and Teleri—they are coming all at once and their strife continues in your Halls." The Maia stepped closer and Namo could see how his hands trembled.

"Go," Vairë said. "You must see to them, Námo."

"I will sort this madness and return." Námo squeezed her shoulder before sweeping out of the room, moving from a dignified swiftness to an outright run as he followed the agitated Alariel down the corridor.

He did not know how much time had passed before he returned to Vairë, time being a relative thing in his Halls.

She was at her loom, the shuttle working back and forth as she wove. He could see the tracks of tears on her face and the glittering drops that fell unheeded on the threads of her loom.

Vairë paused at his entrance, turning to meet his gaze. "Miriel was here," she said. "I had Nienna take her away—to Irmo, to seek some solace. I have woven the deeds of today. It is too much to expect her to do so, so soon after her return, Námo."

He sat down heavily, his head in his hands. "I do not think this is the worst she will have to document, Vairë."  Námo rubbed his aching forehead again. "I have sorted things for today," he continued. "But I fear more days like this await us." He shook his head. "The fëa of the Teleri and the Noldor dead were arriving so quickly from Alqualondë that there was no time to sequester them from each other. It was chaos but I have orders in place as the rest come in."

"You expect more then?" Vairë questioned.

Námo closed his eyes and pressed the heels of his hands over them before answering. He did not expect the images to fade away and, as he anticipated, they did not. "I fear this is just the beginning."

"Did you speak to Manwë?"

"I did. And I spoke to the Noldor, at his request. They are exiled, a great Doom revealed to them and most particularly on the House of Fëanor," Námo said.

"This will be hard for Miriel, Námo," Vairë said.

"Aye, I fear her son shall bring great sorrow to her and her labors to weave his story

shall bring her no comfort. I foresee my Halls will fill with Noldor as the years pass by."

Vairë glanced at the tapestry before her—the dead littering the once pristine shore of Alqualondë, patches of sand stained with blood. The white swan ships of the Teleri, moored in the harbor still, their decks strewn with bodies, blood swirling in the waters around them. Could it truly ever be worse than this?

"It can," Námo said, answering her unspoken question. "They go to Beleriand, to fight Melkor, forever exiled from the Undying Lands. Blood shall be spilled, lives shall be wasted in this quest for vengeance and tears unnumbered shall be shed. We must expect the worst."

"I had not expected even this," Vairë said, gesturing to her tapestry.

"Nor had I, fool that I am." Námo could not disguise the bitterness in his tone. How had even he been caught unaware?

He met her eyes. "Moriquendi we have had—through accident or the brutal actions of Melkor's creatures in Beleriand, as you well know. But never so many at once. And they passed through our Halls swiftly, eager to be rehoused and safe." Namo shook his head. "Now I wish that I had advised them to settle even farther away than they did. Reluctant they were to come to Tirion—the darker reaches were more to their liking, the light of the Trees more distant—only starlight, as they were accustomed to in Endorë. Would that I had counselled the Returned to stay away from Formenos!"

"You knew they would go there, not only for the undimmed light of the stars but for the chance to trade with the Noldor," Vairë said gently.

"There were other settlements," Námo pointed out. "Fëanor might not have been so eager to cross the sea, had he not heard their stories."

"He would have found them, Námo. In his wanderings over the years he has met many returned Moriquendi—his travels were not confined to Formenos, as you well know," Vaire reminded him.

"Blast him and his travels," Námo growled.

"Even had he not met them, he would still go—to avenge his father and the devastation Melkor has visited on his family." Vairë paused, her brow creased in thought. "Fëanor always treasured Finwë's stories of Cuiviénen and the Great Journey. He has longed to see those lands since he was a child. You know this."

She moved closer to him and put her hand on his shoulder. "'What is done is done.' Is that not what you say? We cannot chase the past away, only learn from it. Time to heed your own words, Doomsman of the Valar." Her fingers moved up to gently brush the hair away from his face.

Námo looked up at her, those cool fingertips the only solace he had experienced this day; his head still throbbed from the onslaught of the fëa that had crossed into his Halls. "Heed them I will. But I fear even my words are not enough to change the path the Noldor have chosen today."

**Author's Note:**

> It's so good to get to post something again! I had surgery on my left thumb four weeks ago and I'm in a cast with no use of the thumb--typing has been near impossible other than short bits like this summary that I can do with my right hand. I wrote this and submitted it before I injured myself.  
> I'm looking forward to updating some of my other fics but it will have to be after I'm out of casts and braces. Dictation apps are abysmal with Tolkien names!!


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